


Warm

by bumblebi221



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Caring Sherlock Holmes, Cold Weather, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cuddly Sherlock Holmes, Fluff, M/M, Very fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:53:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27838666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bumblebi221/pseuds/bumblebi221
Summary: Prompt filled for wsherlockscottholmesblog on tumblr: ((Prompt for you- Johnlock snuggling on the couch after a particularly long, exhausting case, please. As fluffy as possible.))
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 61





	Warm

“Sherlock, my fingers are about to fall off. Can we go home now?” John shivered, regretting his decision to not wear gloves or a hat. They had been dashing from the yard to the morgue to the yard again practically all day, with only a short break for lunch at a cafe, and now they were staking out a flat. It had been mild enough when they left the flat after breakfast (which was rather late, as both John and Sherlock enjoyed sleeping in) that John had thought his jumper and a light jacket was sufficient. It was now late in the evening, however, and John could see his breath fogging in a cloud in front of him.

“Not now, John, we’ve almost got him!” Sherlock complained. What started out as a simple bank robbery had turned into a murder, and Sherlock and John had been working hard all day and now into the evening. Right now, all John wanted was some dinner and a warm blanket. John sighed and followed Sherlock as he ran around the corner. When he looked back, he could see through the flat’s window that the suspect had left and was going out. While the obvious move would be to wait for him at the front door, John knew Sherlock would rather have the satisfaction of catching him at the scene of his next planned crime.

Over an hour later, the criminal had been apprehended and the necessary paperwork filled out. John and Sherlock were finally on their way back to Baker Street, and John was currently trying to warm up in the back of the cab. He rubbed his hands together and stuffed them in his pockets. Finally giving in, he sighed and looked over at Sherlock, inviting him over. Sherlock quickly wrapped his arms around John and buried his curls into the nape of John’s neck. They may have been dating, but John had never been prone to public displays of affection with anyone. He was willing to make an exception this time, however, because he was freezing. Sherlock, on the other hand, was surprisingly cuddly. He enveloped John in his limbs, radiating heat. He removed his coat and wrapped it so it would cover John. Both Sherlock and the coat were very warm, and John was surrounded.

“Is this better?” asked Sherlock. John could feel the detective’s breath on his back and moved down a little. Sherlock’s mouth was now level with the crown of John’s head, and, just as John had hoped, he planted a kiss amidst the graying blond tufts of hair. Sherlock grabbed John’s small hands and enfolded them in his own large ones. He squeezed them gently, restoring the circulation to John’s fingers.

“Much,” John grinned, tilting his head up for a forehead kiss.

All too soon, the cab arrived at Baker Street, and John had to make the short but freezing dash from the car to the door. Sherlock, of course, showed no signs of being cold. They made their way up the stairs, and found that Mrs. Hudson had left them dinner waiting under covers to keep warm. Sherlock walked over to the dishes and lifted one of the covers, holding the plate out to John.

“Pour vous, monsieur,” he said, winking.

“Thank you, sir,” John said, giggling. He took the plate and eagerly began to eat.

Another hour later, and Sherlock was flopped on the couch, buried beneath a blanket. John couldn’t even see Sherlock’s face. John was in his chair by the fire, reading a book.

“John,” said the blankets. John looked up, and seeing no change in the bundle, smirked and looked back to his book. “John.”

“Who said that? It looks like it’s coming from the couch, but I don’t see anyone over there. Is the flat haunted?” John teased.

“John!”

“That’s it. I think I need to investigate this.” John got up and walked over to the couch. He stared at the bundle for a few minutes, pulling a mock thinking position. Then he poked the blankets.

“Ow.”

“There’s that voice again.” Now John laid down on top of the blankets. A muffled groan came from the pile. John pulled back the edge of the blanket to reveal a very grumpy detective.

“Not funny, John.”

“A little funny.” John kissed Sherlock’s chin in an attempt to soften him.

“That won’t work on me, you know I hold myself above sentiment-” John kissed the base of his neck, and his cheeks burned red.

“Do you?” John grinned smugly.

“Yes.” Sherlock’s voice was more pouty now.

“You didn’t hold yourself above it in the cab,” John said, still smiling widely.

“That wasn’t sentiment. That was survival. You were freezing.” John said nothing, but buried his face in Sherlock’s chest.

“Speaking of freezing, let me under the blankets.” Sherlock shifted over and pulled the side of the blanket up. John moved underneath and Sherlock pulled the warm afghan back down around them. His head poked out completely, curls splayed on the pillow, but John’s was only half visible. John wrapped his arms around Sherlock, who used one arm as a cushion for John’s head. He wrapped the other around John’s waist and pulled him closer. He made a quiet humming sound of contentment. Sentiment wasn’t half bad, sometimes. He heard John say something about a bumblebee as he drifted off to sleep, still humming.


End file.
